Sterek Meet Ugly series
by CixMag
Summary: A succession of Stiles meeting Derek (or the other way round) in various AUs. The idea came from a Tumblr post by Tokiosunset : thanks for the inspiration ! The file will be always marked as "complete" because each chapter will be another oneshot.
1. Havoc

_This oneshot was inspired by a Tumblr post by Tokiosunset. Great ideas, really ! In fact, I'm challenging myself to write them all. No fluff or smut, just ugly meetings._

_Hope you'll enjoy it !_

_Reminder : English is not my mothertongue, so don't hesitate to point out errors or misuses. Thank you ! _

_Cissa._

* * *

_Edit : Since I don't remind the prompts I got from Tokiosunset, here they are (sorry they're not in the right order) : _

HAVOC : "I broke your nose at a mosh pit"

GJALLARHORN : "I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital"

NIGHTCALL : "You were chased by the cops, got in my car and just yelled 'Drive!'"

(to come) : "You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend"

(to come) : "You laughed in a restaurant but you have an ugly laugh and I thought you were choking, so I spent the last three minutes awkwardly humping you while performing the Heimlich maneuver"

I KISSED A G... BOY : "We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame"

(to come) : "I get really sick on roller-coasters and you had the misfortune of sitting in front of me so, uh… sorry…"

THIS AIN'T A SCENE IT'S AN ARMS RACE : "You're the bastard who keeps parking right in front of my house so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me"

WORKING MAN : "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat"

COUNTING STARS : "You broke into my apartment drunk thinking it was your friend's house and I should call the cops but my cat kinda likes you so we're good"

THE DOPE SHOW : "My new dealer has friended me on Facebook and I'm unsure of how to react to that"

MONSTER : "You saw me reading the same book you did and we got into a heated discussion on how much it sucks"

IMMORTALS : "This is a five-hour-long plane ride, we're sitting together and you're deathly afraid of flying"

_Once again, thank you Tokiosunset !_

* * *

_All lakes are sanctuaries _  
_Like covert nemetons _  
_All forests are hallowed _  
_Blest groves of an invictus tribe_

Eluveitie - Luxtos

* * *

There were so many people in front of the music hall that Stiles wondered how everyone would fit into it. Beacon Hills didn't have a big concert hall, only a small one, yet the band they were about to see wasn't the local kind.

"I can't believe we're finally going to see Eluveitie in concert!"

Scott was really excited to see them, even if he wasn't listening to their music for more than a week.

"Yeah. Me neither, especially here. There are a lot of people only for them, don't you think?"

Stiles was dubitative. It seemed weird. Eluveitie was a great band, no need to say, but it wasn't the style people here especially liked. Have you ever seen a Swiss folk metal band in Beacon Hills ? Well, now you have.

The evening was slowly descending on the town, until the local church rang 7pm. Then the mob began to reach inside, filling the concert hall with dozens and hundreds of warm bodies. Good thing that Stiles was only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Scott, far from being used to metal concerts, insisted on coming with a jacket. Always so unprepared…

This was a special concert: there was no guest band, only Eluveitie. Like, two hours of bagpipes and tin whistle and that'd be absolutely great. A big flag with the band's name and their triskele emblem had been hung behind the drums. The sound of waves submerged the hall, meeting the light melody of the flute and bagpipes. The band came onto the stage under a thunder of applause, and metal resonated everywhere. People were soon waving in rythm, a mosh forming in the center of the pit. Scott and Stiles were dragged into it, giving and receiving pushes and avoiding elbows. Well not ALL elbows.

Stiles heard his nose breaking even louder than the flute solo or the growling of the singer. He also fell onto the floor, which was the absolutely nope-thing to do in a mosh pit.

"AAAAAAOUCH!"

It was so painful Stiles wanted to kill the dumbass who couldn't control his elbows. Fortunately, like in any other metal concert, people quickly withdrew and helped him getting back to his feet. Stunned and eyes closed by the stinging pain, Stiles felt Scott's arms around his shoulders, guiding him to the Red Cross's stand.

"It's ok…"

Wait, that wasn't Scott's voice! Stiles suddenly opened his eyes to see who was helping him instead of his best friend.

Wow. He opened his mouth, only to shut it a few seconds later. That man was… Absolutely gorgeous. Even in the darkness of the concert hall, Stiles could feel his piercing light-colored gaze.

"I'm sorry…" the man said.

So, he was the one that hit him so hard his nose broke into pieces? Hmm… Better not kill him, come to think of it. It would be such a waste!

"Hmm… ok…"

But damn that was so painful… The nurses fixed him quickly, but he had to stand still for the rest of the concert. Remain still. In a folk metal concert. What the f…

Yet, the man didn't go back into the mosh pit like Stiles thought he would have. He stayed just next to him, as if he was afraid he'd disappear. Stiles pretended he didn't notice until Scott eventually came.

"Stiles! Here you are!"

"Yeah…"

"Oh my God, your nose is broken!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

Hearing them, the man came back and began an apology Stiles cut out immediately, without even looking at him.

"Don't say you're sorry, because I don't care, ok? Just let me enjoy the show from afar, my face agonizing just because you can't even control your goddamn body!"

"I just wanted to…"

"I don't care what you…!"

Stiles turned to him, and was suddenly reminded how handsome and genuinely worried he was. How could he shout at such a puppy-face?

"Ok. Just… Let's forget this ok?"

"Er…"

The man's face was blushing. Even now, in the semi-dark, it was showing. He stretched out a hand with a little note in it.

"Just take it. Please."

Still looking pissed - or at least, wanting to look pissed - Stiles took the note. Great, a name and a phone number.

"Derek Hale?"

"Hmm… yeah."

"I'm Stiles Stilinski. And I swear I'm gonna make you pay for what you did to my nose."

Derek opened his mouth but said nothing. He only smiled a little, and went on enjoying the show. Which one, that was the question, for he was staring at Stiles instead of the band.

The concert ended and Stiles' nose was still pierced by excruciating pain. He assured Scott he didn't have to see his mother, and that all was fine. Yet, when he came home, he took a look at the note. Derek, huh? Without even thinking of it, he composed the number.

"Who's there?"

"Stiles. You know, the guy enjoying himself until you punched him in the face."

"Oh… Are you ok?"

"As ok I can be with a broken nose…"

"Do you… need something?"

God, he really sounded concerned. Stiles swallowed his sarcasm as much as possible, and replied.

"No… not really. I just wanted to know why you gave me your phone number."

"Wh… what? Because I thought you could need help."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Dunno. I'm rich? I can pay the bills if you want."

"That's ok, my father has a good insurance. No but, really. Why give me your number?"

"Why calling me? Seems having my number doesn't bother you that much."

"I'm calling you to know why you gave me your number without even knowing me!"

That was getting really annoying.

"What do you want me to say? I just felt like it!"

Silence fell. Sometimes people do things without thinking, and Stiles was clever enough to know that. He sighed. He had lost. He had nothing to say. Derek, on the contrary, had an idea.

"Why don't you come with me to another concert? When your nose is fine. You like Eluveitie, you should like Ensiferum."

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"Huh? Repaying you something that I ruined by hitting you?"

"That, and asking me out."

Derek laughed.

"Yeah, maybe. So? What do you say?"

"I say… I love Ensiferum."

Stiles' smile could be heard on the other end of the line. Derek's too.

"Great."


	2. Nightcall

Ok, visiting the prison ruins wasn't such a good idea. Stiles had had some pretty stupid whims, but this one was over the top. Scott had followed him into the abandoned building because… well he was his best friend. What else could he have done? Someone must have seen their flashlights and called the cops. Policemen soon encircled the prison and forced the two teenagers to run away. Escaping haphazardly, Stiles realized Scott went left when he went right. So now they were separated, great! He jumped over the fence and ran into the street.

"Hey, you! Stop!"

"Shit…!"

Cops were following him closely, and he had to find a solution. Entering an abandoned prison at night wasn't a big deal, but if he could avoid his father's lecture, that could be great. So now: how could he disappear? There was a big black car at a red light and there was Stiles' sense of preservation. Without even thinking, he jumped into the backseat and shouted:

"Drive! DRIVE!"

"Get out of my car!"

The driver was a muscular black-haired man with frowned eyebrows and ice cold eyes. Nonetheless, Stiles was determined to stay and hide in that freaking car. He crouched onto the floor, praying for the cops not to notice him.

"Drive! We'll talk later!"

With a growl, the driver shut up and drove. A few blocks further, he parked in a small street and turned to Stiles.

"What the fuck are you doing? And who the fuck are you?"

The teenager's head popped out of behind the seats, looking relieved as well as panicked.

"I'm Stiles and thank you for the ride!"

He was about to get out of the car when the driver caught him by the wrist.

"Not that fast, young man! Why cops were following you?"

"Why? Nothing. Well, almost nothing. Just… entered an abandoned prison. Like I said, nothing really."

"Why would you walk into a ruined prison?"

"Don't know. Tourism?"

The driver opened his mouth, but obviously he didn't have anything to say, for he shut it and kept silent.

"Anyway, thank you…"

"Derek."

He let Stiles go and rub his painful wrist. Damn, that man had a strong fist…

"Thank you Derek."

"So, where do you live?" he asked turning on the motor again.

"What?"

"Where is your house? You've mistaken me for a taxi already, so let's do this until the end."

"Er…hmm… I don't know what to say…"

Of course, he already thanked Derek. He didn't want to add comic to the situation by repeating himself over and over again.

"Say your address, for a beginning. And get to the front, I'm not your damn taxi driver."

Stiles hesitated, but eventually got out of the car to take the front seat. That Derek was even more handsome when you looked at him closely.

"Ok… I'll guide you." Stiles said. "Get out of the street and turn right."

Derek nodded and drove. The car was silent for a long time, until Stiles opened his damn mouth.

"Why are you doing this?"

"What?"

"I don't know. Being… nice?"

Seriously? This man looked all but nice, Stiles Stilinski.

"Don't know either."

"Well, thank you. You saved my life tonight."

Derek let out a faint laugh. "Did I have a choice? You jumped into my fucking car."

"You could have kicked me out."

"Shut up or I might still do it."

Stiles's lips parted, but he said nothing.

"So, right or left?"

"Right. I'm living here."

He pointed a big house with no car parked in front of it… No car?

"Oh goddamn it!" Stiles shouted.

"What is it now?"

"I forgot we took my car when we went there… It's still in town!"

"You kidding me?"

"No! Can you please drive me back into town?"

"No, you walk, dumbass!"

Derek shut down the motor, refusing to play taxi anymore.

"Please, you have to!"

"I don't have to do anything! Just get out of my car already!"

Trying to kick Stiles out by pushing him, Derek put his finger into his eye.

"AOUCH that hurts!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, now get out!"

Stiles attempted to defend himself, and grabbed Derek's t-shirt.

"Let go of me!" the man growled.

"Drive me to my car!"

"No!"

"Fine, I'm taking the wheel!"

"Don't you d…"

But Stiles was already trying to sit into Derek's seat, not minding the lack of room in the car. Eventually they tumbled when the seat suddenly fell back. Lying awkwardly onto Derek, Stiles tried to turn around and get up, in vain. His hand landed on a very private part of Derek's body, and he fell silent, blushing. Without even saying anything, Derek's hands grabbed Stiles's waist. To push him away ? Oh, no. He held him tight, and before both of them realized it, they were kissing almost violently, drowning in a peak of angry lust that came from nowhere. They couldn't resist it, touching each other more boldly with every second passing by, until eventually the storm faded away.

Later that night, Derek drove Stiles back to his car. Scott was already inside, waiting.

"Do you have a phone number?" Stiles asked before getting out the car.

"Only if you promise me not to assume I'm your taxi."

"If I assume you're my sextoy, is that ok?" He replied with a smirk.

"Fine by me." Derek smirked back, writing his number on a small piece of paper.

"See you soon." Stiles said when he took the note.

"I hope so."


	3. Working Man

Stiles Stilinski was a regular young man most of the time. A little bit distracted indeed, but a good employee nonetheless. Because yes, Stiles was a teenager in need. His father wouldn't pay for a new carburetor, but he needed one for his car. She was immobilized by a breakdown and Stiles couldn't stand taking the bus to the high school. If he wanted Roscoe to be on the road again, he had to work for it. That's how he ended here, in this temple of consumerism, the sanctuary of capitalism: the department store.

He found a job which consisted mostly in putting clothes from the delivery boxes to the shelves, '_mostly_' being the key word. Whenever this pain in the ass of a client went, Stiles found in his tracks a ton of unfolded shirts and randomly scattered pants. As he was checking the new arrivals delivery, Stiles spotted him in the store.

_Oh shit,_ he thought, _if this fucker unfolds another damn shirt only to leave it behind, I swear to old Gods and new, I'm gonna shove it down his throat until he chokes to death._

This 'fucker' was known to be Derek Hale, a handsome tall man with short black hair and hazel eyes ready to melt the heart of anyone attracted by men. And even anyone _not_ attracted by men. Stiles had lived long enough to know he was into girls – hell, he had even slept half naked with his best friend Scott more than once without even thinking about sex – yet that 'fucker' always managed to give him unholy thoughts. Pretty damn unholy, like murder.

"What can I do for you?" he asked Derek as he was browsing through t-shirts.

"Hmm nothing, thank you. I'm just looking."

"Really? 'Cuz you seem to be in need of counsel, by looking at how many shirts you unfold each time you enter this damn place."

"I beg your pardon?"

Derek was taken aback. Good.

"I've been here long enough to know that every time you come here, I'm on for like two hours of additional work, cleaning up the mess you left. Unpaid additional work, of course."

"Excuse me, young man…" _Oh damn, not that intonation!_ "…but isn't it your job to re-fold what consumers unfold?"

"Well excuse me, old man…"_ Suck it._ "…but not every client comes and turns the store upside down until it looks like an out-of-the-hell chaos. You're worse than a hurricane!"

"That's what she said. Listen, I'm here buying shit and giving you a job to do. Just do it and shut up."

Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. That was outrageous. Truly outrageous.

"Are you kidding me?" he said. "Do you think your money can buy my respect?"

"I don't fucking care about your respect, I just want to buy a shirt."

"Then you'd better think about the ones you unfold because I'm charging you every last one of them!"

"You can't!"

"Wanna test me?" _Come and get me, I'm not afraid of the big bad wolf,_ he thought. That was a pretty childish thought, but it comforted him and gave him confidence. This man had gone too far too often. Now he's got to pay for it.

"I want to see your manager." Derek commanded.

"Too bad she's not here today. And don't worry, she agrees with me."

That was a bald-faced lie, but Derek couldn't have a clue, could he?

"So what are you gonna do, huh?" the man asked.

"I'm following you through the shop." Stiles replied. "If you need something, I'll fetch it for you, but no messing around and randomly leaving clothes in unlikely places."

"Unlikely places?"

"I've found boxers shorts in the ladies section last time you went. Seems like L is getting too tight for your big fat ass."

Ok, that was rude and unnecessary, but at least it made Derek blush. Hell, he was even more handsome now…

"So to prevent that, you're gonna stalk me?"

"Yep."

"And hand me whatever I want?"

"In the store… Yes. And if we got the right size."

Derek began to smile, putting Stiles very ill at ease. What was on his sick mind?

"Great." He said. "I got my own private shopper. Can you tell me how working more will help you work less?"

Stiles opened his mouth but he couldn't come with a satisfying reply. Perplexed, he remained mute. As for Derek, he looked quite pleased.

"Can you search for a dark t-shirt with a cool print and a colored shirt that won't look totally ridiculous on me? I also need new jeans. Black, if possible."

"Yep." But Stiles didn't move. "I can."

Derek lost his smile. "Don't dare you fool me around." He looked so threatening that Stiles backpedaled in utter panic. He noted down somewhere in his mind: _no jokes with Derek, that man just doesn't seem to have a sense of humor._

"Ok ok, I'll look for it... Just wait by the dressing rooms."

Derek nodded and let him do his job, finding an empty room. Five minutes later, Stiles showed up with three t-shirts, five shirts and two pairs of jeans matching the exigencies of his client.

"Try those. I figured out your size, and usually I don't make mistakes." He looked apologetic. "Oh, and sorry about the big fat ass thing."

Derek frowned before smiling lightly. "No need. I actually gained weight lately, even if it's not as fat as you assumed it was."

Coming to think of it, Derek was all muscles and jawbones. So manly Stiles could almost smell the testosterone floating around him. He was so concentrated on it, he forgot to move out of the way.

"You're planning on staying for the show?" Derek asked him.

"Oh…" Stiles muttered as he closed the curtain. He heard a buckle, and jeans dropping on the floor. Behind this thin piece of clothe was a gorgeous naked man, muscles rolling under his skin… The thought made Stiles blush. He nearly jumped when the curtain re-opened; he didn't hear Derek getting dressed again.

"What do you think?"

"Well…" _Those jeans surely underline what a beautiful ass you have..._ "It's ok. I guess."

"Just ok? Because your cheeks are bright red. Am I so attractive that I'm giving you a hard time concentrating?"

"Oh, believe me, I'm concentrated enough." _Just not on my job, that's all… _"I'm clearly too concentrated, in fact."

"Do you find me attractive?"

It was a simple question, and Derek asked it the same way he'd ask about the weather. This time, it's Stiles who was taken aback.

"Er… Hmm… Yeah, I guess. But I'm not into guys, sorry."

"Neither am I." Derek's gaze swept Stiles' body. "But there are exceptions."

The teenager blushed even more, if that was even possible.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Derek took a step forward and passed behind Stiles. Without even realizing it, the young man was into the *cabine, stuck between Derek and the mirror. His special client closed the curtain and put his hands on his shoulders. Stiles knew he should say something, but that was so pleasant he couldn't force himself to protest. He still tried to put some distance.

"I said I wasn't…"

"I heard you. I know how it feels. You're an average boy, looking for girls' attention, and then come this absolutely perfect guy, and you're wondering 'who cares about girls when you can get this boy's attention?'. It's my story too."

Stiles had a hard time *swallowing his saliva, and stood still while Derek was gently whispering into his hear. He could feel his breath on his neck, and his hands on his hips. And suddenly, nothing.

Derek took a step back, looking genuinely disappointed.

"You're a terrible seller though."

"You're an even more terrible client."

Seemed like sarcasm brought him back to reality. Stiles opened the curtain, escaping the scene as soon as possible.

"Didn't you say you would bring me anything I wanted? This shirt is ok, but I'll need another size for that t-shirt. And those jeans…"

"…are perfect. Believe me."

Stiles cheeks were still red with embarrassment and hidden desire. After another five minutes of browsing into the hundreds of clothes, he came back with more t-shirts.

"So… You're bisexual?"

"I thought you wouldn't be so stupid as to bring that back. If you wanted me, you should have taken me when you had the chance."

"Ok, you're disappointed, I get it."

Now the two of them were childishly sulking. Great. Derek changed clothes in silence, and turned to Stiles but he wouldn't even look at him.

"You're right, I'm bi." He conceded. "Happy now?"

"Not really… But the outfit is ok."

"I'll take it. That, this one and that one."

"Right." Stiles took the clothes Derek picked up, arranging them on his arm.

"I'll also take your phone number, if that's part of the prestation."

Were his ears completely functional?

"Beg your pardon?"

Derek made a very serious face and asked again:

"I'm deeply interested in having your phone number. And a few other things from you."

Stiles' jaw dropped, and before he realized what he was doing, he walked to Derek and kissed him. Putting aside the clothes, he just kissed him. What in the world did he think he was doing? But the impulse was too strong, and Derek too damn hot. And the curtain closed again, hiding them and their bad bad behavior.


	4. This Ain't A Scene, It's an Arms Race

Stiles hated that man that lived next door. He was too perfect to be true, honestly. Plus, he didn't seem to understand that his motherfucking roadster was to be parked in front of his own house ! Stiles didn't have any room left in the street for Roscoe, and was usually forced to park like thirty yards from his front door. Maybe that neighbor thought that being richer allowed him to put his black Camaro wherever he liked? Well, fuck you Mister.

On this Saturday morning, everything was fine and typical. And Derek Hale has again put his car just under Stiles' windows. The scenery didn't enchanted the young man who just got up. His mind still clouded by his bad dreams and agitated sleep, he groaned and took his keys.

"That's it. I'm done."

He didn't even take the time to dress up. He didn't care if his neighbors saw him in his pj's. Nothing was more important that teach that asshole a lesson. Walking like everything was fine in the world, Stiles approached the car all keys exposed and 'SKREEEEEEEEK!'. A nice, long, and ugly scar barred the side of the Camaro as a shining line of silver onto the black-as-the-night paint.

"Serves you right!"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Derek popped out of his house like the devil out his box, shouting and looking pretty angry. Stiles childishly tried to hide the keys, but what was done was done. And Derek saw it all.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Derek yelled.

For a split second, Stiles thought of pleading innocence and lying bald-faced to his neighbor, then he decided that was useless. And that he was fed up with this man's shit.

"No, YOU get out of here! I'm tired of seeing your fucking car in front of MY house!"

"The street doesn't belong to you, asshole!"

"There's plenty of room at your place, just take your ugly piece of garbage and put it there!"

"Are you really calling my car an 'ugly piece of garbage'?"

"Why not? You're trying to compensate something, driving such a thing?"

_Bam! Well played, Stiles._

"Wha… Fuck you!"

"Fuck you too!"

Derek began to run toward Stiles, but the young man quickly withdrew to his house, hiding in his father's skirts. Not that Sheriff Stilinski wore any dress but… Well, that's not the point. The important thing is that Derek didn't chase him further, and moved his damn car that day.

And all was fine. Would be, in fact, because on the Sunday morning - Sunday noon, more precisely, Stiles had the chance to have a real nice night of sleep - it was Roscoe that had been wrecked. Eggs and toilet paper everywhere. Derek has spent the night rolling Stiles' car into toilet paper, sealing it with smashed eggs. Stiles got out of the bed furiously and sat in the front of his laptop. Now he needed a plan. A motherfucking battle plan. Derek wanted a war? He'd have it.

First, Stiles went to searching for a good rock music playlist. The tag ? 'Fuck you'. As Sully Erna was shouting 'I fucking hate you' on the top on his lungs through the window, Stiles browsed his drawers for a kraft envelope. He just woke up, and he didn't have his morning shit yet. What a better use for it that a nice krafty thing he'd set fire to, just on Derek's doormat. Have a nice day, fucker.

Stiles went on with his plan after dressing up. Trying to be as stealthy as he could be, he put the envelope on the floor - welcome to you too, asshole - and lit it up. He also rang the doorbell before disappearing back to his home, watching the scene from his garden.

Looking suspicious, Derek opened the door and nearly set his own foot on fire with the envelope. Then, like any normal person he just… stamped on it. Shit splashed on his feet and legs, spreading out onto the doormat and the little white stone alley leading to his frontdoor. Under the ruckus of Corey Taylor howling 'People=shit', Derek could almost hear a boy laughing. Revenge, vendetta… It was a spiral with no end. Stiles would regret pushing Derek this far. Oh yeah, he'd regret it.

After taking a nice long shower, Derek went to clean his frontlawn from all Stiles' shit - really? Does this guy have no shame at all? - and then rushed to his computer. He had an idea, and he thought it was a brilliant one. Ok, he'd surely lost money on it, but this was the perfect lesson for an immature young man like Stiles. Anyway, Derek lost like $500 to a very noble cause that day.

Three weeks passed with nothing noticeable. Stiles and Derek were still at war, but it's become a very cold one, almost glacial. They didn't talk to each other, they even avoided to cross gazes. Derek parked his now repainted Camaro a little further, and Stiles had been satisfied with it. After all, hadn't he won? No, of course not, because it wasn't fucking over.

On this bright and warm Friday, his father had received a parcel for him.

"Did you order something?" he asked his son.

"No… Why?"

"Cause you have a delivery. Here."

It was a big cardboard box, with no 'fragile' warning. Stiles took it - damn it was heavy - and listened to it. No suspicious ticking, and when he shook it a little, no sign of glass or anything else. The things inside made soft and heavy sounds.

"Ok, let's open it then. I don't think it's booby-trapped." Stiles declared.

He cut the tape and took a look at what was inside. Oh my fucking god. Sextoys. And not only one… There were five of them, fancy-colored, weird-shaped monster rubber cocks.

"…Stiles?"

The young man's cheeks went bright red with embarrassment.

"No no I swear it's not mine, Dad!"

"Then why is your name on the box?"

"I don't know, I didn't order anything!"

"Stiles, I don't mind your sexual life but PLEASE I don't want to know anything about it!"

"But it's NOT mine!"

"You know, it's ok, just… The next time you actually order something like that, try to remember it!"

Sighing, Sheriff Stilinski went back to the kitchen, letting his son meet with his new friends. Looking into the box, Stiles found the receipt.

"SWEET FREAKING JESUS!"

"I can hear you!"

"Oh… Sorry Dad!"

These toys were fucking expensive! Why would someone make a prank worth $500? And why the fuck would people buy a rubber horse penis? Stiles shook his head, and looking by the window, he remember his neighbor. The war that he thought was over just staged up to another level.

Without even thinking, Stiles took the box and went to Derek's. He knocked so hard on the door he was almost surprised he didn't actually break it. The handsome-but-nonetheless-completely-annoying man soon opened it. He took a look at the box, then at Stiles' face, and laughed. He just laughed at him, genuinely amused, like it was his best prank ever. Hell, it WAS his best prank ever.

"Oh my God, just look at your face, it's amazing…!" he said.

"Shut. Up."

Stiles pushed him inside and entered his house, putting the box on the closest table. Derek took the time to shut the door before walking back to Stiles.

"I knew you'd like them." he added.

"SHUT UP! I've had the most awkwardly awkward moment with my father right now and that's all because of you!"

"Well, you can just chill out and enjoy yourself. You have the choice now."

"Aaaaah I HATE YOU!"

Stiles took one of the toys - the biggest one, the blue and purple horse dick - and try to hit Derek with it. Hilarious, the man withdrew in his livingroom, ending on his sofa.

"You can try and hit me, these are of the softest silicon. It won't harm a fly!"

"I'll harm YOUR fly!"

Stiles went for the crotch instead of the head, looking pretty ridiculous waving a monster cock like that. He looked so silly he thought Derek would die of laughter.

"Calm down here… Take it easy!"

Derek patted Stiles on the head, which only made him angrier. And when he tried to hit him again, Derek only locked his wrists into his fists.

"Calm down. You're not hurting anyone. That was only a joke."

"That's no fucking excuse!"

"Well, that's for my car and my doormat."

"That's for Roscoe and parking in front of my house."

Stiles let down the horse dick, and Derek let him go.

"Why did you even parked there? You have all the room you want in front of your house!" Stiles added. "Was it just to rub your wealth under my nose?"

"No…" A shadow passed on the man's face. "I just wanted to…"

"What? You're telling me you're in love with my dad and you wanted to be noticed? Fuck you!"

"I'm not in love with your dad."

Derek's voice was so low and his light hazel eyes so damn serious, you'd have to be pretty dense not to understand what he meant.

"Then why?"

But sometimes Stiles could indeed be pretty dense.

"I'm in love with you, dickhead."

"So that's why you're buying me dicks? Because I look like o… What did you say?"

Stiles stayed still, mouth opened. His beautiful chocolate-fudge-brownie eyes filled with perplexity stared at Derek like it was the first time he met him. He was tall, fit, and sure a lot of girls would have find him attractive. At least, het-girls. And gay men too. Maybe.

"I love you." Derek repeated.

Copy that. Copy too much. Copy-I-can't-cope.

"Er…"

Falling silent, Stiles shut his mouth and waited for… something to happen. So when Derek took a step forward, he let him. Their eyes met, like earth and sky, and they kissed. Derek held him tighter against himself, letting him feel how pleased he was to finally touch him. It felt weird to Stiles, but the good-side of weird. How could he love so much being in these arms? After all they'd done to each other? It was like sometimes life was laughing at you, very proud of its joke. Anyway, Stiles shut his brain down, and simply enjoyed the kiss.

Derek lifted him to the couch and slide onto him, still putting his lips everywhere he could. As he was able to speak - and breathe - again, Stiles couldn't help but ask between feverish sighs:

"Ok you're… forgiven… but… why… horse dicks?"

Derek had a quick laugh and quit licking his ear.

"Horse, wolf, shark, and two different kind of dragons."

"You didn't answer."

"I just felt like it. I really love Bad Dragon. It's good quality."

"WHAT THE…"

"I also wanted to try those ones for a long time. And not on me."

"I can't believe you're saying what you're saying!"

Derek shut him up with a new kiss and wandering hands. They had all their time now to try out Chance, David, Bruce, Duke and Kelvin.


	5. The Dope Show

Note : Trigger warning for drug use.

* * *

_Now I found you, it's almost too late..._

* * *

Another damn long night was over. In the east, the sun was rising, bringing shades of pink and orange to the blue sky. Derek sighed. He was tired. Exiting through the back door of the club, he lowered his hooded head and shoved his hands in his pockets. Now that he was into the real world, he wasn't the Big Bad Wolf anymore; only Derek Hale, a man whose life went down in flames when almost all of his family died to a firebug. He only had his uncle now, and Peter wasn't the kind of man you want to hang out with. Derek didn't like him, even if he was the last family he had.

So he lived alone in a abandoned building. Squatting the penthouse, he transformed it into a pretty nice loft. That was more that he could have wished a few years ago, when he decided he needed a job whatever it took. Derek's body was fine, and people used to say he was quite handsome. So he became a stripper. And sometimes, more than that. The first times weren't easy, but eventually he got used to it. Most of the time, everything was fine. 'Most' being the key word.

That night, Derek wasn't fine. He was nervous, on edge, both tired and overexcited. Walking with his phone in hand, he called one of his 'friends'. He was in need.

"Hey. It's Derek."

"Hello charming! What should I bring you?"

"China white. Ten bags."

"Prices got up, sweetheart."

"How much?"

"$220."

Derek sighed with annoyance. The heroin market around here was often fluctuating, sometimes quite low, and sometimes like tonight, quite high. He doesn't have a choice, though.

"Deal." he said.

"Copy that."

"Meet me at home. You know where I live."

Derek hanged up without waiting for an answer, and walked faster.

When he entered his loft, he wasn't even surprised to see the young man already sitting on the couch. The bags were obscenely disposed on the coffee table, waiting to be tasted.

"Hi again!"

His dealer looked and sounded quite joyful this morning, as usual. Stiles was the kind of guy that smile for nothing. Derek only answered by a long grim face.

"Don't be so sulky! Here it is. Money?"

Without a word, Derek gave him his due.

"Dude, why so tense?" Stiles asked as he shove the bills into his pocket. "Come here and enjoy what I brought you!"

"Are you already high?"

"Alwaaaaays!" Stiles sang back. "You know I can't write if I ain't."

"You're not writing right now."

The younger man waved his index finger near his temple. "I am here. There's always like three or four stories going on in my head! I love it!"

"You're nuts."

"Genius is mad."

Derek didn't have anything to answer to that, Stiles was right on this one. Putting his hoodie on a chair, he sat in his couch silently and fixed himself. Beside him, Stiles did the same. An hour went on without any word spoken, silence broken only by faint sighs of relief. Eventually, Derek found the strength to talk again.

"Why the fuck did you add me on Facebook, by the way?"

"Why not?"

"I got work-related contacts on that fucking account."

"_Work-related_? Like what, strippers and gigolos?"

"Fuck you."

Stiles laughed, genuinely amused. His head landed on Derek's shoulder, but the man didn't seem to notice. Or he didn't mind.

"That's pretty funny coming from a manwhore. Fuck you too. Many times. In a row." He purred in Derek's ear.

"Shut up… I won't add you. Never."

"Will you add me to your life, though?"

Derek opened his eyes as if it was the first time he saw Stiles. He was a skinny white post-teenager with beautiful huge brown eyes that grew up too fast. His face was waxy and dark circles were shadowing his eyes. He almost looked like a corpse but Derek couldn't help but finding him attractive.

"Why would you want to enter my life?"

"Because we're alone. Better be alone together."

Stiles once told Derek that his best friend married a cute and smart girl two years ago and disappeared. He just left him behind and went on with his life. Beside that friend, he only had his father, who was a workaholic he didn't see much. Trying to fight the fear of the blank page, Stiles fell into drugs. But dope didn't fill anything, it only dug bigger holes.

"Alone together…?" Derek repeated, trying to resist the urge to kiss the boy. When he thought he couldn't anymore, he realized Stiles was having a hard time keeping his eyes opened. He breathed too slowly and looked as he was about to faint.

"Oh shit…!"

Derek put a finger onto his throat, checking his pulse. It was alarmingly weak.

"Stiles!"

No response.

"Oh god no… Not here…"

Derek got up and laid down Stiles on the couch. The wannabe-writer was ODing and he wasn't sure what to do. He was still high himself, even if he was feeling better than him. Remembering the adrenaline syringe into one of his bedroom's drawer, Derek hurried to it. He almost fell on the floor, scattering empty beer bottles on his way. Damn, that loft was a mess! How did he not see this before? He was living in a garbage dump…! He eventually found the syringe and came back to the livingroom. He swallowed, opened Stiles' shirt and prayed he still got a good aim.

Then he shoved the needle into his heart.

Stiles breathed air like a drowning man, looking wrecked, but still alive. He was alive.

"Oh God please, don't do this to me again!" Derek shouted. "Together, huh? Together until you leave me alone, that's it! Better off alone then!"

Stiles couldn't answer, not yet, but he promised himself he wouldn't. There was something that had changed into Derek's light greenish blue eyes. It's been almost a year that they knew each other, for business only though. Stiles didn't come to think that maybe Derek had seen a friend in his dealer. That was so unrealistic that he just couldn't believe it. The man have always been correct but distant and cold. As if… As if he didn't want him to get too close.

"No…" Stiles managed to mutter. "Never. Better off alone…"

"What?"

"We're never better off alone." He said as he took Derek's hand in his. "I think I love you. I'm saying it cause I might have just died without telling you. I don't wanna this to happen again."

The words hit Derek's brain like a bullet.

"It… It won't happen again." He replied with a low voice. "I promise."

"H… How?"

Stiles, the always-smiling-to-hide-his-fears-Stiles was showing every bit of his anxiety to Derek. He didn't have anything to hide now.

"There's only one way." Derek's voice was only a whisper. "And it won't be easy…"

Stiles stared into space, then understood. Rehab, huh?

"Ok."

Maybe if he wasn't alone, he could do it. They could do it. Maybe. But _maybe_ was better than nothing.


	6. Counting Stars

That night, Derek was watching The Empire Strikes Back for the hundredth time when he heard glass breaking. Swearing with a low voice, he pressed pause and went up to see what it was that caused such a ruckus. It was like 3am, and all of his neighbors were sleeping, except maybe for Scott McCall living next door. He was a student and it was the summer break, so he surely wasn't sleeping at all. Anyway, as Derek was worrying about the neighborhood's well-being, he entered his bedroom, where he thought the noise came from.

"What the…"

A young man was lying on the carpet, surrounded by shards of glass. By the look of it, he didn't seem injured, but Derek didn't really care at the time.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Scott…?"

So he was a friend of his neighbor… Great! And by the sound of his voice, he didn't wait to be 21 to get wasted.

"Get up and get out!" Derek shouted. The teenager - student? - got to his feet and looked at the man with more attention.

"Scott is that… Wait. You're not Scott."

"No shit, Sherlock! Now… Out."

He really meant it. Approaching him with a heavy pace, he clearly threatened him. And that worked. The young man withdrew to the wall, pressing himself against it.

"Please don't hurt me sir…" he moaned.

"Meeeeeooow." Greyback answered.

Greyback, that was the well-named young cat Derek decided to adopt a few days ago. Now that he came to think of it, he didn't really know why. Anyway, the cat was here, and seemed to enjoy the presence of the stranger. Derek looked at his pet angrily, but since Greyback was a cat, he didn't give a freaking shit and went '_meeeeeow_' again.

"What's its name?" the young man asked, looking for a distraction.

"Greyback. And you're still getting out, unless you want me to call the cops."

"Greyback… Like… That werewolf in Harry Potter?"

"Get. Out." Derek insisted, obviously to no avail. The young man was kneeling on the floor, petting the purring feline.

"I assumed it's a boy then!" Scruffing his long fingers into Greyback's fur, he went on. "You're handsome, little boy! Oh you like it huh? Handsome!"

Astonished, Derek couldn't help but blush. That dumbass didn't seem to be afraid of him anymore. Like what, was there a law saying that if you have a cat, you're harmless!? Derek thought of plenty of cartoons that begged to differ.

"So, are you gonna go?"

If strength was useless, maybe bargaining would do?

"Dunno. I do love that cat."

"Yeah, so do I, and it happens it's mine and you're in my bedroom, after breaking one of my window so…"

The teenager lifted his head, opening his mouth wide in awe.

"Oh I'm so sorry…! I… didn't introduce myself! I'm Stiles Stilinski!"

"Oh my God are you even real!? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

That was it. Derek was pissed, Greyback or not. He walked up to this Stiles and was ready to hit him when something happened. Greyback jumped and scratched him on the arm. He didn't file his claws yet, so blood was soon dripping along his muscles. Without even thinking, Derek went into the bathroom: he didn't want to bleed on his new carpet Stiles probably ruined with glass anyway. Greyback took his momentum to flee, hiding away somewhere else in the house.

"Hey… Are you ok?"

Stiles entered the bathroom, looking less drunk than before. Maybe the bleeding and shouting and meowing had helped.

"What are you still doing here?"

"I just wanna help, man! Chill out! I'll pay for the window and all…"

It was funny because Derek didn't think about it at all before Stiles brought the subject on.

"I don't care. Just go away."

"…Not gonna happen."

Stiles walked to Derek and searched for cotton balls to stop the bleeding. When he found them, he pressed one on the big scratch. He was feeling guilty for that miserable flesh wound. That was both adorable and freaking annoying. Derek let out a sigh:

"It's ok, I can take care of it myself."

"So, what's your name? You didn't tell me…"

"…Derek. Derek Hale."

"Nice to meet you, Derek. Even though the weird circumstances."

As they were closer and into plain white light, Derek observed Stiles in more details. The student was quite cute, in fact. Huge eyes, lips you want to kiss, skinny hands, long neck and untidy hair… Derek didn't know where these thoughts came from, and wiped them out quickly. He knew he had a thing for a certain type of men, but this was just a boy. Somehow, Stiles should have noticed the stare, because he asked:

"I'm eighteen you know. Want to see my ID?"

"The fake one you keep for bars and drinking? No thanks."

Anyway, that was awkward. They didn't know each other, and he just broke into his house. They definitely weren't going to make out.

"The real one. You know Scott, don't you? We're the same age. And… I… Not feeling well…"

Stiles face turned livid. Derek just had the time to put him near the john when he puked.

"Seriously?" Derek muttered.

The noise was awful… and nothing compared to the smell. Such sexiness.

"I'm going to fetch you some water. Just… keep it into the bowl, ok?"

Derek went down the stairs to the kitchen, going through the livingroom when he crossed Leia's gaze. Maybe later? He sighed. He hated when he was interrupted in the middle of a movie. He put a bottle of water from the fridge and went to hand it to Stiles when he found him in the front of the TV.

"So, you're watching Star Wars!? That's great!"

"Yeah… I like those movies. Like thousands of people…"

"Wait. Which one is your favorite?"

Derek raised both of his eyebrows, casting a glance at the screen. Stiles looked back and nodded.

"Great! Mine is The Return of the Jedi. And what do you think about the prelogy?"

"Crap."

Stiles looked genuinely pleased.

"That's my…"

"Please don't." Derek replied, lifting his index with annoyance.

"You got it, I got it." Stiles backpedaled.

"Here." Derek handed him the bottle before sitting in the couch. "Now, can you leave me be so I finish watching my movie?"

"Maybe. But what about me staying? I love that one."

"Don't you have something to do… At Scott's?"

Stiles noticed Derek didn't plainly say '_no_'. He was just wondering if the student didn't have anything else to do. That was progress.

"To be honest, no. Not really. I was just about to pay him a surprise visit."

"At 3pm?"

"He's used to it… So, can I stay?"

"Only if you shut up." Derek growled.

Stiles smiled a little bit stupidly, and called Greyback. The cat was sitting on the stairs, waiting for someone to ask for him. Those cats, really… Derek pressed play, and watched Han Solo being taken away by Darth Vader. He felt Stiles getting closer to him as the scene - THAT scene, of course - was coming. It went exactly as he feared: when Han Solo said '_I know_' just before being freezed in carbonite, Stiles' hand landed on his thigh, searching for his. The student wasn't in love, obviously not since they just met, but something was indeed happening. Derek couldn't resist it anymore and put his hand on Stiles', looking at him in the eye.

I was really hoping he was eighteen.

* * *

_Note : For once, I wanted Derek to pay attention to Stiles' age. Sometimes I do, most of the time I don't. Not that the underage aspect of Sterek doesn't bother me, but I grew up in a country where if you're 15 and giving consent, everything is fine. I even dated a 16-year old guy when I was 22, and nobody blinked. There were feelings and everything was consensual so I didn't see any problem with it. Anyway, I always picture Stiles a little bit older, like 18 or 19. _  
_This note is not an excuse nor an apology, just my own point of view. I understand people who'd disagree._


	7. Immortals

As he climbed into the 777, Derek couldn't help bu feel like it was his last day on earth. He entered the metal coffin making a long face and breathing heavily. People were packing into the airplane, and the feeling was almost smothering. Derek fought his rising anxiety to search for his seat, until he eventually found it already taken.

"Sorry but… that's my seat." he clumsily said to the teenager that was occupying it.

"Oh… I see. No problem. You prefer the window seat, then?"

"What…"

Oh no he didn't prefer that. At all. In fact, if that boy wanted to be by the window, he could have it. Derek shook his head.

"No that's fine. You can stay where you are… I'll manage with the alley seat."

"Oh thank you!" Derek looked puzzled that the boy seemed genuinely happy over such a trivial matter. "But…" the teenager went on, "don't you think it'll mess things up if the plane was to crash? I know that seat numbers are used to identify charred corpses and…"

Derek's face turned to a brand new shade of green. He closed his eyes, trying not to picture any of this boy's words.

"Oh my God, I'm scaring you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean… So you're what…? Airsick?"

_Please, if there's someone out there, please make him shut up_, thought Derek as he began to merge with his seat. That's when the commander announced the take off and stewards began their weird ritual dancing. Nothing could have brought more anxiety to an already panicking Derek.

"Hmmm… er… So why are you sitting on a five hours fly if you're deadly afraid of planes?"

_Does that brat never shut up?_

"No… No choice." Derek muttered. "An emergency."

"Oh I see. I'm Stiles, by the way. Stiles Stilinski."

"D… De… Derek. Derek Hale."

"Nice to meet you Derek. Despite the context."

Stiles stretched out a hand, but Derek was obviously too busy panicking to notice it.

"I see…"

The plane taxied on the lanes until it turned left and stopped. Derek tried not to look outside, but it was too late. Without any warning, the plane accelerated, sliding onto the tarmac like a fuse ready to go to the Moon. Stiles looked thrilled and smiled, but Derek was literally dying out of panic.

"Wow, let these alone, you're gonna ruin them with your nails…"

Derek didn't - couldn't - answer under the pressure of his own phobia. He was pale and greenish as a ghost, his light eyes contrasting even more with his dark hair and beard. He could have been Morticia Adams' brother it wouldn't have surprised Stiles to the least.

"Are you ok?" The boy tried, genuinely worried.

"Do I look like I'm ok to you?"

"No. Clearly not."

Stiles didn't know what to say, and couldn't reach the stewards as they were glued to their seat waiting for the plane to take off. Derek would have to wait, unfortunately.

"Here." He didn't know why, but maybe a little human contact could reassure the poor man. Stiles took his hand in his, holding it tightly as the plane took off at last. Derek's breath grew smoother as he let himself feel Stiles' warmth. Sure it was awkward, but effective. When finally the plane was in the air - how could such a heavy metal monster could _fly_? - Stiles released his grip.

"Why did you do that?" Derek ventured.

"Don't know. But it worked, right?"

"Maybe…" He couldn't help but blush. When Stiles took his hand, Derek's thought had shifted to this unexpected contact, and for a split second forgot about the plane. That's how it worked, even though he couldn't bring himself to thank the boy for… holding his hand. It almost felt shameful.

_Damn, the man is hot, and handsome, and adorable, and…_, Stiles thought. However, still troubled by the fact that he realized a few weeks ago that he might be gay, he tried not to dwell on such thoughts.

"So why are you going to Sacramento?" he asked, looking for a distraction, both for him and for Derek.

"None of your business."

His voice sounded more assured, so Stiles smiled. Even if he just not-answered his question. Ok, that was a private matter, but… Derek was being rude.

"I'm going for summer break from college."

Well, Derek didn't ask, but Stiles still felt like he had to answer. Usually, giving unwanted informations was a good way to get some back. Derek was unusual though.

"You're going to college? How old are you?" He was sincerely surprised, opening his big hazel eyes in disbelief.

"Twenty-one since May." He looked really pleased with himself. "I do look younger, don't you think?"

Derek rolled his eyes. Yeah, he did look like he was fifteen but he wouldn't give Stiles the pleasure to put it in words.

"And you? You look like you're like… Thirty-five. But I bet you're younger."

"Twenty-six." he replied, pissed off.

"Must be the beard. A beard always makes you look like a daddy."

Derek almost chocked on his saliva. Was he really calling him a 'daddy'? What the f…

The seatbelt sign went off with a small bip, and stewards got up. As Stiles unlocked his belt, Derek hesitate to do the same and eventually did. He didn't like the idea to roam around in an airship 10 000 feet from the ground that could be failing at anytime. Once more, Stiles must have noticed Derek's fear on his face.

"Don't you worry, a plane is the most secure way to travel. Compared to the numbers of passengers and the time spent in it, it has the smallest count of accidents. Chill out."

"Maybe, but when accidents happen, you die. There's no shades of grey."

"Well… Not alwaaaaays." Stiles had a hard time to admit that if the plane crashed, they didn't have a chance to survive it. So he played the distraction card. "Speaking of shades of grey…"

Derek turned his head to the not-so-teenager and cast him a death glare.

"Ok. You didn't like the movie. Or the book. I don't know. Fine, totally fine by me. I mean, neither did I. Total crap. Weird so-called-romance and what about that capitalist-lined way of thinking, really?"

"Are you always talking that much?" Derek was clearly annoyed by Stiles logorrhea.

"Oh… Don't know, maybe?" For once second, he remained silent, giving the impression that Derek had won. Well, not really. "So, what kind of books do you like?"

"I don't read." The man answered with a annoyed tone.

"And movies?"

"Do we have to talk?"

"I don't but you might. I think that if you're not doing something - like talking - you'll think about how you're in a plane and how much it freaks you out. So you need to focus on something else, anything. Could be me. No one ever focus on me anyway so I took the chance to make it change."

Derek wanted to argue, but the feeling that Stiles was strangely right shut him up. He didn't say a word then.

"Am I right?" Stiles asked, waiting for Derek to nod. He didn't, at least physically. The post-teen knew that he agreed. "So, what are you favorite movie? Mine is Star Wars, and literally all of the original series. The prelogy doesn't even exist, as Hayden Christensen's talent."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "I saw him in other movies and he's not that bad. His Anakin is what you got when you put actors in the middle of green and blue wasteland without any real set whatsoever."

"You have a point. Maybe. But you can't defend a character like Jar Jar Binks, do you?"

"How could I? He's responsible for the creation of the Empire."

"Wow, I think that you may be blaming him too much on that one…" Stiles replied with a amused smile.

"Remember when he was in the Senate? And what he did?"

Stiles' lips parted as his memories were shuffling in his head. "Right… you're right. Hey… You're good." He uselessly added, making Derek feel ill-at-ease again. "No… No I didn't mean… I wasn't expecting to be sitting just next to a desperately airsick and damn hot Star Wars expert. Did I say _damn hot_? I said it. Oh my God what's wrong with you brain? Why can't you just function normally like anyone else's? Well maybe not like Justin Bieber's but…"

Derek interrupted him. "Hey, Stiles, it's Stiles, isn't it?" He nodded in silence. "Ok," Derek went on, "That's ok, I'm not getting angry for you calling me 'damn hot'. It's quite flattering, to be honest."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "Are you gay?"

"No!" Derek immediately defended himself, before realizing that the way he said that was awfully offensive. "I mean, I do like women."

"So you're not sure?"

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I might be gay myself and honestly I don't know how to handle that." He paused. "I shouldn't have said that. Not that quickly and not that way. You know what… just forget it!"

Derek lowered his head then stared at Stiles; he was genuinely caring and that made him even more adorable. "You need to talk about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe…"

"Then go. If you have to get something off your chest, go ahead. In less than five hours we'll be strangers again."

The words hurt Stiles more than he would have imagined. Derek was right: once they get to Sacramento, they'll part never to see each other again. The tragedy of it struck him deeper than he would have thought possible. How did Tyler Durden put it? Oh yes: '_Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream, single pat of butter. The people I meet on each flight? They're single-serving friends._' Or was it one of the nameless narrator wandering thoughts throughout the movie? Stiles couldn't remember, but that wasn't even close to important. What was important is that sudden unexplainable sadness that took over his heart. _What the hell, feelings? I didn't even know him!_

"What's wrong Stiles?"

"Oh… nothing. That's ok. Nothing to say really, whether it's about me, my potential gayness or the fact that we'll surely never got to see each other again."

"Oh that's the reason why?" Derek looked surprised. "I never knew people who get attached so fast."

"I don't." Stiles replied quickly. Too quickly to be believed.

"You do. Really? Do you like me?"

Derek never came to think about whether he was attractive to gay guys or not, but he had enough feedback from his feminine conquests to know he wasn't ugly.

"I think… maybe." Stiles admitted. "I mean, you're handsome and all, and most important thing, capable of holding an interesting conversation about Star Wars. That's pretty rare."

"You're kidding…" Derek was laughing though.

"Oh no I'm not! So, please Mister, entertain me with your extensive knowledge of fictional universes."

"Ok… Hmm… I bet you've watched every single Marvel movie released…?"

Stiles' heart missed a beat, only to go thumping harder and faster as he was pouring his fanboyism onto Derek. The talk was so heated that he forgot about the time, the plane and his airsickness. Focusing on Stiles and his passions was really working. And bonus: he got to know a beautiful person.

Then, the commander announced the landing.

Stiles fell silent in the middle of his plea for Thomas from the Maze Runner, and how his feelings for Teresa had slowly died throughout the series, drowned in all the mind-fucking trust-issues-inducing WICKED trials. So, the flight would be over soon, and what must happen would happen.

"You know," Derek said with a purring low voice, "we don't have to… not-see each other after the landing. I mean… When we arrive, as soon as we're given the permission to turn on our phones…"

"… Are you asking for my number?"

"Maybe." He blushed a little. "If that doesn't bother you."

"Of course it doesn't…! But… You're not…"

Derek shrugged. "I do like women, that's all I know. Never said I didn't like men. Well… in fact… I kinda like you."

Stiles' heart didn't miss a beat, but the whole music sheet. He searched for something to say, interrupted by a little turbulence that shook the plane and brought panic back on Derek's face.

"Hey, here. Hold my hand."

Their fingers entangled on the armrest, Stiles began to hum a song.

"What are you singing?" Derek asked, trying to focus on anything but the landing.

"Aaaaah… You don't want to know."

"Really? Please tell me it's a not a love song…"

"With a certain point of view… I don't even know why I'm singing it right now… My brain is such a pain in the ass…!"

"You do put your brain in strange places…" It was so stupid they laughed. "So, what song is it?"

"Have you watched Big Hero 6?"

"Oh no, not that song, you don't have the right, you can't!"

But it was too late: Stiles was clearly singing it, with all the '_live with me forever now_' and '_I try to picture me without you but I can't_' lyrics. Derek made a long face but eventually forgot about the plane. He was still picking on Stiles, telling him to shut up and that Tadashi's death was the most horrible thing that Disney had done to him since Mufasa's, when the plane's tires finally touched the ground.

Stiles smiled like a silly kid, proud with himself.

"So here we are, and you didn't panick. Don't I deserve a phone number…?"

Derek was about to grumble but couldn't resist the urge to just smile. When the plane stopped completely and they could finally turn on their phones, exchanging numbers was the first thing they did. In the airport, Stiles's dad and his best friend Scott were already waiting, as was Derek's uncle Peter.

"So that's it. Goodbye Stiles."

"Please call me."

He didn't say anything else as he parted from Derek to greet his family. Stiles hated goodbyes.


	8. I Kissed a G Bo Man

Oh damn that party was aaaaawesome! Stiles could barely stand up and walk, but he was feeling good in all that fresh air. He didn't puke tonight, and that was quite an achievement. Since he began college, he always attended parties but never managed not to be sick. Everyone around him was laughing at how a fragile freshman he was but he didn't mind. Vomit or not, that was fun. College was great. Except maybe for the fees. The fees weren't that great. They were high, and that was clearly not the same. Pay attention to semantics, fellas!

As the morning was brightening the campus, he walked zigzaging between the trees in the parc, focusing on the pattern of the red-brick path to help him walk straight. Walk _straight_. That too was funny as fuck. Leaving high school had this not-quite-a-downside where Stiles began to be aware that maybe, _maybe_, he was queer. Not hellagay-queer, but at least bisexual. He once came to the word 'pansexual' and immediately liked it. It was super inclusive and let the place for doubt. In fact, that was a label that didn't seem to label anything except 'loving and screwing everything around old enough to give consent'. Yeah, he really liked the sound of it. It smelled of freedom and love. And lust.

Yet the reality was quite different. He had only dated cis-girls up to this point, mainly because he hadn't had the opportunity. His best friend Scott and he didn't haunt gay bars - they didn't haunt barsto begin with - and Stiles felt all his boldness melting away when it came to ask _a guy_ out. As for trans and non-binary people, Stiles didn't got to know any. He'd really like to, mostly because he cared and worried about their well-being in a society that claimed for so long that didn't exist or were struck by a weird disease and needed to be cured. That was awful, and even if he considered himself too cis to feel the oppression, he wanted to know more.

Why was he thinking about that, remember? No, he didn't. He drank so much last night that there was still alcohol running in his veins and clouding his brain. Really, did he had to wander around the social justice side of Tumblr that much? Hell, he did! _That's would make me a better man that I'll ever be!_

Well, Mister, sometimes you have to focus on what's in front of you. Still lost in thoughts, Stiles bumped into a handsome machoman crossing him on the red-brick path.

"…Oh…I'm sorry I…"

He raised his eyes to look at the man he just ran into.

"Wow."

Such eloquence. The senior student he bumped into stood there as if he was unable to talk. Maybe he was. Ever tried dating a mute person, Stiles?

"What?"

He wasn't mute after all. But still, Stiles would date him anyway.

"Hmm… nothing, just… Sorry." He muttered to the senior. But when he wanted to step pass him, his feet just didn't respond.

"… You ok?" Dark Prince Charming asked.

Stiles lips parted, yet no words came out of his mouth.

"… You drunk?" Now he frowned.

"No!"

"You are."

"Lieeeees."

"I am too."

Wait, what they were talking about again?

"Yo… You're what?" Stiles questioned.

"Dur… Dun… Dr… Derk. Derek. And drunk. Actually."

"But it's like six in the morning…!"

"Didn't sleep."

"Yeah, me neither. And hi Derek, I'm Stiles."

"Ok."

Derek passed him by, just raising a hand like: '_ok right I acknowledge you fellow drunk-person-trying-to-get-back-to-your-room_'. Stiles felt disappointed and little bit insulted, but alcohol tended to suppress that feeling. He shrugged absent-mindedly, and went on to the dormitories. Wait… There was only one - huge - building for student rooms and it wasn't where Derek was heading.

"Wait!" Stiles shouted as he turned around to see the senior student's back.

"What…?"

"Where are y…" He couldn't finish his sentence, though. He was too busy puking. Looks like shaking your head around handsome men could have some pretty disgusting side effects. Anyway, he had lost the game. Even if the party was over, he still vomited, and that still counted. Derek ran back to him, in the case he needed help.

"Are you ok?" He asked.

"Mostly… Sorry, I must look so wasted…"

"You're wasted."

"So, where are you going? Rooms are over here…"

Stiles vaguely pointed out at the dormitories.

"I just… wanted to walk. I'm going nowhere…"

The freshman's eyes opened wide. "You kiddin'? Come at my place then!"

Silence swept them like the wind pushing a little dust ball in a western film duel scene. _Did I really say that? I did say that. Oh my God why? Why did I say that? _

"Why not?" Derek answered.

"Wha… Oh."

Stiles was so surprised he didn't know what to say. He just let his mouth opened like he usually did in these circumstances. Without a word, he turned around again - with less speed this time - and walked on. They didn't say anything, partly because alcohol had made their tongues heavy, partly because there was nothing to say. The building approached and got bigger until they entered it. Needless to say that they weren't the only one up at this hour: some students were coming home after a party like them, and some other got up early for classes and studying. The harsh and unbelievable dichotomy of college.

Derek followed Stiles into his room. He didn't share it with anybody: his former roommate dropped like a month ago, and went back to his parents'. For now, Stiles was left alone with two beds, which was quite convenient for today. He sat in his, and pointed the other for Derek to take place in.

"So. Why am I even here?" The senior asked.

"Don't know. Want to talk?"

"I want to sleep."

"Meh… Me too, but I'm curious."

Derek's hazel eyes opened wide. "'Bout what?"

"You. Like… Are you gay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek frowned.

"Dunno. No offense but, it happens I am - well, not reaaaally but you can consider it so, and it'll do for now, and damn, you're fine."

"That's the most awkward and bullshitty compliment someone have ever made to me. Thank you." He smiled a little, which made Stiles smile too.

"I was wondering then… I never kissed a boy."

"I'm no boy." Transgender? "I'm a man." Nope, just a shitty joke.

Stiles burst with laughter so loudly he must have woken up the entire floor.

"So, can I kiss you?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Maybe that approach technique wasn't as smooth as he thought it'd be. What was Derek about to ask him back?

"Do I get to have your number, then?"

"Wh… Wo… Wow."

"You've already said that."

Derek crossed the space between the twin beds to come to Stiles, and kissed him without even thinking about it. It was a shy one at first, and could have been bolder then, but Stiles stopped it to look at Derek.

"What are doing?" The look on the senior's face was priceless, like '_what do you think I'm doing dumbass?_', but that wasn't what Stiles had meant. "I just puked! You saw it! I didn't even get to brush my teeth that…"

"I don't care." Derek just answered. "You asked me if I wanted to kiss you, and I wanted to kiss you so I kissed you. Are you always that complicated?"

"No." Well, to be honest, he didn't have a clue about his level of complicatedness. "But…"

"No _but_s."

_No, no Stiles, you have to resist that one, just don't screw this up…_

"I got one, though. You can have it anytime."

_Aaaaand you failed. _

Derek looked at him with an expressionless face, before laughing uncontrollably. "I think I really like you Stiles. So… What's your number?"

Stiles smiled from ear to ear as he was trying to give him his phone number.

"Ok, I'm gonna call you so you have mine." Derek said. So he really wasn't joking…

"Great!"

A second later, Stiles' phone was ringing. He hurried and entered the number in his contacts, unable to leave his silly smile behind.

"Thank you…" He said, genuinely happy to have met someone that handsome and charming. He just hoped that this man wasn't too fine to be true.

"No need to… Can I sleep here?"

Stiles raised his hands to the skies. "Sleep wherever you want, Derekiel, the angel that fell from the heavens so hard it crushed my heart!"

Once more, they laughed, and Derek just laid himself down on the unoccupied bed, after removing his shoes. Stiles did the same, only stayed on his own bed. Turning his head to Derek, he watched him falling asleep. Then, he closes his eyes too.

"Wha…"

It must have been like 2pm when Stiles' eyes opened again. Derek wasn't in the guest bed but… wrapping his hands around him. Stiles didn't feel anything weird during his sleep, and since his butt wasn't hurting, his physical integrity must have remained untouched. But, that Derek was just holding him tightly, being the big spoon and breathing smoothly. Stiles didn't feel quite right, even if the fact that Derek looked so relaxed reassured him. The freshman shifted and turned his face to Derek's, holding him in his arms too.

He didn't want to spoon. He didn't want to show him his back. He didn't want him to think the kiss was just a childish whim. Well, maybe it was, but it could be so much more, and it was a chance he didn't want to miss. He didn't want to hide anything. He wanted to look at him when he'd woke up, straight in the eyes.

_Straight._ That's funny.


	9. Monster

The man was reading all day long in the park. Stiles could come at any time, he still would be there, sitting on this old bench by the fountain, enjoying the nice weather and a good book. Sometimes Stiles wondered if the man had a job at all : who could afford to sit down ten hours a day, just reading? It's not like he wasn't doing anything, but to be honest, he wasn't doing much either.

Maybe Stiles wouldn't have noticed him if he wasn't so handsome. Nothing to do here with his flexible heterosexuality : you could find someone attractive and still not be actually attracted to them. Yet, Stiles wouldn't go that far. Perhaps he _was_ attracted to him. A little.

Every morning and every evening, he crossed the park to go to work, and every single time the man was there with a book in his hands. The only exceptions were when it was rainy or worse. Stiles actually saw him devouring _A Song of Ice and Fire_ in less than a month - the whole five books! - and all Harry Potter series in a day or two. How was that even possible? Hell, even if he hadn't an ADHD, he never could have managed to stay still and focused for such a long time.

This day was like any other. Stiles got up and out of his small flat in a rush, almost already late for his shift at the day nursery. He really liked to work with children, they reminded him that he wasn't the only one unable to stand still and remain calm. Like most of them, he was cheering and playful, and usually he and the children got along quickly. Of course, there was always the odd one out, the silent child who always played alone, but even her liked Stiles. Stiles was good at reading stories.

As he walked the old path that crossed the park, Stiles wondered if the mysterious reading man would like hearing stories. Not that he was thinking about reading _A Song of Ice and Fire_ aloud, but maybe something like Percy Jackson? It was written with a clear and oral style, and Stiles loved the guy. A sarcastic hyperactive little shit of a demi-god that kicked ass? Perfect!

Yeah, he read the books. It took him several months, but he eventually read them. Same goes with George R.R. Martin fictional massacre, only he didn't have finished it yet. Hell, he hadn't read the part where Ned Stark dies yet!

So, what's the book today?_ The_ _Hunger Games_? _Divergent_? _The Maze Runner_? As those books were brought to the big screen, the fanbase grew exponentially and coming from a man that enjoyed urban fantasy and science-fiction, well, why not? Or maybe _The Hobbit_, for the same reasons? Going to the basics before watching the extended edition of _The Battle of Five Armies_?

"What?"

The words spilled before he could think about it. It's been two days since he last saw the reading man - that's called a week-end - and here he found him deeply plounged into Anita Blake's _Incubus Dreams_. The beginning of the end, litteraly. Litterary too.

"What 'what'?" the man replied, mildly annoyed.

Damn, his eyes were beautiful. Stiles always looked at his hands, his black hair and his neglected beard, but those eyes, a light mix of green, blue and grey… He could drown into them.

"Huh… The book."

"What, 'the book'?"

"You're always reading, but like, good stuff. Why this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, that's not the best Anita Blake book, to be honest. Is it?"

Stiles used to read the series back when he was attending high school. The adventures of Anita Blake, the vampire hunter and gifted necromancer were one of his numerous guilty pleasures. He'd got tired of it, though. What he liked about these books had faded with time, until he just dropped the series. _Incubus Dreams_ was precisely the book where he officially gave up on Anita and her clique.

"I'm wondering how you can read it, really."

"Why? Because of the sex scenes?"

"You mean 'the bad porn scenes'? Yeah. Among other things."

"I don't know. I must have gotten used to it."

"I never had."

"Laurell K. Hamilton really changed her writing style with time, I can understand."

"Huh… Yeah. Maybe. I liked it more when it was really about supernatural murders and mysteries. Then Richard came and all went astray."

"Richard is a good character, don't you agree?"

"Hell no!" Stiles made big gestures all of a sudden. "He's stupid, and too soft when he should decide, too hard on people when he needs to calm down… This man is a wreck! And all this pack-hierarchy bullshit, like, seriously?"

"I find it annoying too." _And pretty inaccurate._ Too bad he couldn't say that aloud.

"That's nonsense ! On one hand, she wants us to think werewolves are more beasts than humans: they can't control themselves, they're violent, they need doms and subs like they're automatically into BDSM; and on the other hand she describes a really precise and rigid hierarchy, as if werewolves were almost the bureaucratic kind of people. I just couldn't. I mean, for me, werewolves are humans that have a bigger wild side they need to accept. But they're still humans to me, they can talk and decide together. They don't have to relate on claws and teeths when it's not necessary. And I find her hierarchy really sexist and heterocentered. You may think I'm another social justice warrior but if you remind yourself that werewolves are humans after all, why the Alpha needs to be a male? And his Lupa, a female? That's nonsense."

"You seem quite passionnate about it…" The man couldn't help but smile. If only he _knew_.

"Hey, you're only passionnate about what you love. I used to love Anita Blake, really, only before it all went 'necrophilia or bestiality?'"

"Werewolves are humans, remember?"

"Yeah, but with Hamilton's point of view, you can almost talk about bestiality, indeed."

The reading man smiled again. He didn't seem annoyed by Stiles' sudden rant. That was unexpected. Usually, when you interrupt people's reading, they're mad at you. That man seemed just amused.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"I think you got a point. And that you're late for work."

With a sudden realization, Stiles cast a glance at his watch. The man was right, he was late. Really late.

"Maybe we could talk about Anita tonight?" the man suggested. "I'm not moving today."

"Yeah! You never move anyway!"

The reading man didn't say anything, but his facial expression changed a little. Then, he smiled again.

"By the way, I'm Derek." he said.

"Stiles. And I must go."

"I know. See you later, then!"

"Yeah! Have a nice read!" Stiles shouted as he began to run.

"Or not!" Derek replied.

That young man was right: the book wasn't really good anyway.

* * *

When Stiles came back after his shift, Derek was still there, reading.

"So, you made progress?"

"Not really, no. I switched for another series."

Stiles frowned. "Just… how many books have you got in your bag?"

"I don't know. A dozen, maybe."

Derek made a gesture towards his bag, inviting the young man to look into it himself. When he did, Stiles was astonished to discover a ton of books, in mint state for most of them.

"You just bought them?"

"Yes. Some are second-hands, but yeah, I bought them."

Stiles wanted to ask about this man's job and money, but it was none of his business so he kept his mouth shut.

"You want one? Or two?" Derek asked.

"What?"

"I don't know, your eyes are glowing like a child's on his birthday… If you want one my book, just take it. I already read most of them anyway."

"Are you serious?"

The man wasn't smiling at all. "Of course."

"Huh… No, thank you." Stiles was taken aback by the unreal of the situation. "To be honest, I'm stuck into _A Game of Thrones_ for like a month, and I just don't seem to make any progress…"

"Oh, you're reading it? How do you find it?"

Derek closed his book - Dan Simmons' classical _Illium_ \- and gave Stiles all of his attention.

"It's… interesting and well-written but it's really long and slow for me. I mean, I'm not used to it so…"

"You've seen the TV show?"

"Hard not to. I know that they don't stick up to the books after season 3 or 4 but I don't mind. I really want to read it."

"Maybe you need to make breaks and read other stuff. Short stories."

"Don't worry, I read short stories often enough, it's just that they're for kids."

Derek looked puzzled.

"Oh! Of course you don't know. I work with little children, so, reading them stories is part of the job. Maybe if I read aloud it'll be better?"

"Maybe. Or it'll bring up all the little cracks in the writing, all that doesn't sound quite right. Reading aloud is hard too."

"Everybody says that I got a good voice. It's like I'm not really me… I really like it, and people too."

"You'd read aloud for me?"

Wait… what?

Stiles stood there without understanding, opening his mouth just to keep silent. Noticing he might have said something strange, Derek apologized.

"Sorry. I didn't want you to feel uneasy."

"No no that's ok… Really. It's just… It was surprising."

Both of them didn't know what to do or say. Silence fell, and Stiles went back to examining what kind of novels Derek liked.

"Did you like it?" he asked pulling out _The Black Prism_, the first book of _The Lightbringer_ series by Brent Weeks.

"Yes, it's good. I found it really refreshing after classic magic stuff… It's easy reading, one day you should try it out."

"Ok, I'm writing this one down."

"Just take it with you."

It was so easy it felt wrong for Stiles.

"But… it's your book…"

"I'm giving it to you."

"I can't accept. You barely know me, you can't offer me things like this…"

"I can, and I will. It's not a wedding ring or a house. It's just a book."

Stiles disagreed. He loved books, and he loved his own even more. He lived into those books more than he read them and they became part of his life. He didn't know what Derek was thinking, but giving a book… Giving a book was giving a part of himself.

"No, you can't say that." Stiles finally replied.

"Say what?"

"'It's just a book'. It's never _just _a book. Even if it's bad, you have to get into it to know, to see beyond the words. You have to imagine the characters, the world… You know it, you like science-fiction and fantasy, like me. This book…" He held _The Black Prism_ high, just before Derek's hazel eyes. "This book isn't just a book. It's another world."

Silence came back, until Derek's lips parted into a joyful smile.

"What are you high on?"

"Wha… I'm not high!" Stiles defended himself.

"Well, that was touching speech, I must say. But, you're still taking that book away with you if you want."

"Stubborn, huh?"

"Very."

Derek stood up and took back his bag, minus the novel Stiles was still holding. "I guess I'll go home now. You want to come and read some pages for me?"

Stiles's brown eyes opened wide.

"And daring."

"Always. So, are you coming?"

Without even thinking, Stiles nodded and followed.

* * *

Derek's home was a penthouse loft with little furniture and decoration. It almost seemed like he just moved in, though there were no cardboard boxes. In the living room, at least: only a coffee table, a sofa, and emptyness.

"You really live here?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's just… Usually people's places are messier."

"Then I'm not a messy person."

Stiles shrugged, and took off his shoes and jacket while Derek put his bag on the couch. He went in the kitchen then, and asked if Stiles wanted something to drink or eat. They quickly choose the pizza delivery option, and went on talking about books.

"You really want me to read you a piece of _Incubus Dreams_?" Stiles questioned.

"Yes, really. I wonder if your voice could improve the book so I can actually like it."

"My voice does not such miracles, Sir."

They laughed, but Stiles took up the challenge. He opened the book where Derek had left it, and started to read it aloud.

Oh my… It was a sex scene, well not really sexy because it was so entwined with metaphysical and magic shit Anita had to put up with her life, but it was still suggestive. Stiles tried not to sound too feverish, but he had to try and give life to the words.

"_He wanted. He wanted me. He wanted to feed the hunger of his skin. The hunger of his body not so much for orgasm but for that need to be held close and tight, that need we all have to press our nakedness against someone else's._"

He could almost feel Derek getting tense at the other end of the couch, trying to concentrate on his coffee and forget about his voice and how it sounded.

"_I felt his loneliness, and his need, even if it was only for one night, not to be lonely, not to be exiled down in the dark, alone._"

Without knowing why, Stiles just stopped. The book was bad, he knew it was bad, but this little part with Damian, one of his favorite character… That was too much. Stiles was really mad at Laurell K. Hamilton for creating such a good vampire and torturing him, forgetting him for so long. This was settling the score. Focusing of Damian alone. Even if it was just to stress out how weak he was and how bad he needed Anita as a master just to survive. Bullshit.

But the thing is, Stiles was beginning to picture Derek as Damian. Well, he wasn't redhaired or green-eyed, but on the inside… He was all he just described. He could almost taste the man's loneliness by looking at his flat, knowing he spent his days reading alone outside in the park. And Derek looked like he understood. He just nodded, inviting Stiles to keep going.

And he went on, reading the part where Anita felt guilty about her crappy behavior, and Stiles had to refrain from making one or two acid comments about the author's conception of consent and free-will. Not that Stiles couldn't grasp the idea of powerplay and sado-masochism, but that just wasn't. Just because Anita Blake's universe was full of magical shit she had to deal with, didn't mean everyone had to act like wild monsters on heat, as if their brains were switched off. And more important, that was not a freaking excuse to be obliged to have sex. Sex isn't wrong, but it isn't something you have to do, not if you don't want to. That was the biggest problem here, and the main reason why Stiles gave up.

The scene switched from Damian to Nathaniel, a character Stiles didn't like at first - too weak, too fragile for his own good, too unlikely as a sub… too much about a lot of things - but began to appreciate with time. Nathaniel grew to slap Anita's face sometimes, when she really needed it and that was refreshing. This scene wasn't, though. It was… Well, _refreshing_ wasn't the word at all.

"_Nathaniel's face brushed mine, brought my attention back to him. He had knelt down so low that his face, like mine, was almost touching the floor._"

Without Stiles noticing, Derek came closer to him. Enough to nearly act the scene the young man was reading.

"_He pressed his cheek against mine and whispered, "Please, please, please," over and over, and between each please he kissed me, a light touch of lips; please, kiss, please, kiss._"

The young man paused to swallow. That was effective if anything else. Derek surely agreed, for he was just next to him, looking intensely at Stiles' lips.

"Please."

Stiles let go of the book when he felt Derek's lips on his cheek. He didn't move. He didn't run away. Somehow, he knew what was coming, and he couldn't think of something better.

"Please." Derek repeated.

This time, it was Stiles doing the kissing, and not on the cheeks. He took him in his arms, entangling his fingers in his black hair, pressing him against his chest. At first shy, the kiss grew with passion, got deeper as both men forgot about the world outside. They didn't realize it before now, but they craved that touch since the first time when their eyes met in the park. And now that they were touching, they only craved for more.

Maybe that book wasn't that bad, after all.


	10. Gjallarhorn

_To Kaseytrue : I hope this OS will cheer you up !_

* * *

Oh God, he loved the flute. It had such high-pitched notes flying lightly around him, strengthened by the fast part of the fiddle… In the end, it was like he didn't have to force himself to dance. He didn't have to think about the moves, or command his muscles at all. Everything was natural, smooth, as if he was soaring into the air, lifted by the music itself.

It's been three years now that Stiles joined _The Triskele_, a celtic dance club. He needed something to do on his free time, something that would tire his restless body but also something he need to focus on. He wasn't brawny nor athletic, yet dance seemed to fit him. Plus, folk music, metal or not, was one of Stiles' favorites. Epic win !

Tonight, _The Triskele_ performed in a small pub near Stiles' college, and for the first time, they could afford live music. They had called _Loner_, a small folk music trio from next town to play for them. The gig wasn't payed, but as both groups weren't professionals, that seemed ok. Members of _Loner_ were all from the same family, if Stiles' memory was correct. Guitars and lutes were Laura's domain, Peter was the fiddler, even if sometimes he played more exotic instruments like hurdy-gurdy, and Derek was the flutist. It was like everything you could blow held no secrets for him : tin whistle, high and low; breton bombarde and of course, bagpipes. That was Stiles favorite instrument to hear. Well, at least, one of his faves. Stiles was the kind of guy to have a lot of favorite things.

The show went great. It was awesome, really. The best Saint Patrick Stiles ever celebrated. People in the pub cheered and laughed, some even danced with them ! They didn't see the time running, and the closing hour came really too soon.

"Are you driving us home tonight?" Scott asked Stiles.

He was his best friend, and as such, he came to watch him dance. Kira, Scott's girlfriend, was here too.

"Of course!"

As a dance group, members of _The Triskele_ didn't really have much gear. Costumes and tap-dancing shoes only, nothing too bulky. Poor _Loner_ trio, with all their instruments and sound gear… Stiles hesitated to offer his help, only to see that other dancers had had the same idea. They more than enough now, and Stiles would just get in the way.

"Ok, let's go then." he said when he noticed his friends were waiting for him.

He didn't know why he wanted to linger a bit. He really liked the flute. Or maybe just the flutist. Anyway, he needed to go.

Scott and Kira lived almost on the other end of the city, so Stiles had to double back to go home, extending his roadtrip to nearly an hour and a half. His own flat wasn't far from the college and the pub he performed that night. But hey, what won't you do for your friends? The sky was dark and this part of the town wasn't well lit, so when his car bumped into something, Stiles immediately assumed it was a cat.

Like, a big cat.

With the shape of a man.

He stopped the car and jumped out of it. Panicked, he still had the reflex to pick up his phone and call 911. The man he hit was lying on the road, badly hurt but still alive, Stiles noticed when he came near him. He also noticed _who _was the guy he almost killed. The flutist from _Loner_, Derek.

"You…? Oh my… I'm so sorry!"

Stiles went to park his car correctly, then waited for the ambulance. Derek was unconscious, and his arm made a funny angle. Maybe his fingers were broken too? Stiles felt the guilt and fear taking over him as he just waited by Derek's side, powerless. After what seemed like an eternity - a few minutes, really - the wounded man was taken to the nearest hospital, and Stiles was left alone in the street. The ambulance woman had said that Derek's life wasn't at stake, that it was mostly and only broken bones, but that didn't ease Stiles' panic. In the silence of the sleeping city, he heard Derek's tin whistle again. He just hoped he'd still be able to play it now.

* * *

There wasn't much of a mob at the local hospital. It was a small building, and it was packed only when a big car crash happened on the highway nearby. Today, all was quiet, and that's why Stiles' stealth failed him. A nurse saw him, a nurse that he knew very well: Melissa McCall, Scott's mother.

"Oh, Stiles! How are you?"

She looks worried, as if Stiles had come for some injury. He reassured her immediately.

"Fine! Really! I just wanted to see if Derek was ok."

He couldn't get over the fact that he hit him with his car the night before and it took all of his courage to come today and see if he was fine.

"Derek…? Who is he? What's his surname?"

"Er… I don't know." Stiles looked at the floor apologetically.

"You don't know?"

"No I don't… It's a long story. He's a musician and yesterday was St Patrick so my dance club had a gig with his band, and he had an accident."

Melissa tried to know who this man was - when she really could just enter his given name in the computer and see what would come out of it - but when she saw the shadow on Stiles face, she just stopped.

"If you don't know him, why…?"

"The accident. It was my fault. It was me in the car."

He put up the bouquet he wanted to give Derek, still looking deeply sorry.

"I see."

This time, Melissa gave up and went to the computer to search for Derek's name. Why didn't she do it in the first place, that was pure mystery. Stiles tried to breathe more calmly, fearing the upcoming confrontation.

"Hale. It's Derek Hale. Strange enough, you're the first to come and see him."

The sentence didn't proceed to his brain, at first.

"Wait… I'm the first one?"

"Yep."

"But, what about his family?"

Melissa shrugged and lead Stiles in the corridors. Derek played with his sister and his uncle, they must have been worried not to hear from him, not to see him this morning. And if they knew, why wouldn't they come and check on him? Stiles was completely lost.

"Maybe you'd have the chance to ask him yourself." Melissa ended their conversation. "Room 244."

"Thank you." He whispered when they arrived in front of the right door.

He hesitated for a few seconds before entering the room. Derek was there, lying down on the bed with a cast arm and leg, and bruises on his face. Stiles had hoped he'd be sleeping, but his light green eyes were opened.

"Hi…"

"Who are you?"

The first reaction of the young man was to feel vexed. They perform on the same stage the night before and yet he really didn't recognize him?

"I… I'm part of _The Triskele_. You know, the dancers. I came to see if you were ok."

"Oh."

That was this kind of 'oh' you say when you actually mean 'I don't fucking care'. Great.

"In fact… I… I'm sorry."

Derek's eyebrows frowned more than humanly possible. Stiles felt intimidated… by a helpless man stuck in a hospital bed. Like, seriously?

"I'm sorry, I'm the one that hit you with a car."

Silence fell, uneasing and heavy. Stiles lifted up the bouquet to ask if it was ok for him to let it somewhere in the room.

"No."

Derek's voice was tense and definitive. His gaze pierced him like ice spikes and if he was able to, he surely would have hit Stiles with a stick. His refusal was so violent, Stiles backed down as if he was physically striken.

"But…"

"I don't want it. I don't want your pity, and I refuse your excuses. I don't want you here. Go away."

A few words like daggers flying in the air, and Stiles felt his heart being crushed until nothing remained. He fought the tears that were coming up, because he wasn't crying for that, surely not. He didn't want to look too emotional or whiny when he wasn't the one badly wounded. In fact, he accepted it. He knew he deserved it, every last word of it.

"I'm really sorry, I…"

"Get out!"

This time, Stiles obeyed and left the room without another word. What else could he do?

On his way back to the parking lot, he hoped not to see Melissa, but it looked like his hopes were mostly vain these days.

"How did it go?"

He shrugged, his eyes sweeping the floor and his bouquet still in his hand.

"I see." Melissa replied to Stiles' eloquent silence. "I'm taking that, ok?" She pointed out the flowers. "I'd give them to him. Maybe he'll be ok with it if it's me…"

There was no reason why Derek would accept them from Melissa and not from Stiles… Except if he was too proud to accept them from the man who put him here in the first place.

* * *

The next day, Stiles came back to see Derek, this time with hands full of food. Mrs McCall threw him a dark glare, but that didn't stop him. Anyway, for the best or worse, Derek was asleep when he entered the room. Stiles put what he brought on a small table in the corner of the room, just near the flowers Derek surely accepted from his nurse, then stayed for a couple hours. He wondered why he was so stubborn about all this. He didn't know the man, he'd never talked to him, and now that his life wasn't at stake anymore, there was no use staying around. Stiles repeated himself all this, over and over again, and got to the conclusion that he wasn't doing this for Derek, but for himself. The remorse was eating away at him. Paying a visit to the man he injured was the least he could do. Plus, it wasn't like he wasn't used to visit people at hospitals. He knew how important that could be for them, so he wasn't giving up.

Stiles came back the day after and the day after the day after. Since the annual big performance of _The Triskele_ was over, and summer was coming, he could afford to spend time at the hospital. Though everytime he came, Derek was asleep. Stiles would have wanted a chance to talk and explain. They couldn't part on their first and last, for lack of a better word, discussion.

The fourth day however, Derek eventually grasped the idea that Stiles wasn't giving up so he stopped pretending to sleep.

"You're here again." He said when Stiles set foot in his room.

"Oh hi! I'm fine, thank you and you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking if everything's ok with you, why?"

"I said I don't want you here."

Damn, Stiles was almost afraid but he kind of got used to seeing Derek. He calmed down, and just pointed out the obvious.

"But you can't throw me out either. Just listen to me, ok?"

"I already said that I don't want your lame excuses."

"I know that." Stiles put his hands up to shut Derek up and to his big surprise, it worked. Sitting down in the chair by the bed, he kept on talking. "I didn't came to apologize again. I mean, you've got every right in this world to just push aside my excuses. I made them, you refused, end of discussion. But!" Derek had opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles wasn't finished. He meant to say everything he had to say today. "I can't help but feel deeply concerned by the fact that nobody came to see you, beside me of course. Don't you have a family? Friends? Do they even know about your condition?"

"Why are you asking me all this?"

"Because I care, dumbass!" Saying it made it more real, but it was exactly what Stiles was feeling. He really care about Derek, even if they barely know each other. "I know what it's like to be stuck in a stupid bed all day long, with no one to talk to, feeling like you're meaningless because everyone around you have a job and a school to attend and they don't have any time to spend on you. And when they do have free time, you're feeling guilty because they're spending it on you instead of enjoying their daily life. Like you need their attention and when they give it to you, you can't appreciate it because of the guilt. I know what it's like, ok? Anyway, you need to tell them."

Derek turned away. "They already know."

"Wha… What?" Stiles lips parted with astonishment. "They know and nobody came?"

"They're busy. And… I don't have much of a family to begin with. Anyway, I'm ok with it."

Stiles frowned. "No you're not."

"Are you in my head? Because last time I checked, you weren't."

"How can you be so cold?"

"And how can't you mind your own business?"

Well, Derek had a point here. Now Stiles had all the answers he'd asked for. He should leave. Yet, he still had a question mark running through his mind.

"One more thing, and I promise I'll leave you alone… Will you be able to play again?"

"Why…?"

"Your fingers, your arms… Will you be able to play once you're healed?"

Derek nodded, still perplexed. "Did Peter send you to ask me that?"

It was Stiles' turn to be doubtful. He frowned. "No… I just love the sound of whistles and bagpipes and I wanted to know if I ruined that too. Why would your uncle ask me to ask you?"

"How do you know he's my uncle?"

"I made research…?"

"About me?"

"About _Loner_!Calm down there, I'm not spying on you. Plus, you have an official website so… Anyway, why would he ask me to?"

Derek didn't answer. He already said too much.

"You're not gonna talk, huh?" Stiles sighed and got up from the chair. "Time to go then. If you need anything from me, just call. I wrote my number on the cast of your arm."

With a mischievous smile, Stiles exited the room waving to him. He was so proud of his little joke, though he didn't actually think Derek would phone him.

* * *

A few days later, he knew he'd been wrong. About a lot of things: when he heard Derek's voice at the other end of the line, Stiles was happier than he'd thought he would be.

"Derek? How are you? Everything's fine?"

"Yeah don't worry, I'm just… I'm getting out of the hospital today."

"Oh great! You need help?"

"I think I might need a hand, yeah."

"And a leg. And look, I got two of them! I'm on my way!"

This phonecall really cheered him up more than he could possibly imagine. Part of him was worried about those butterflies in his stomach, and part of him welcomed them with arms wide open. Who doesn't like butterflies, anyway?

Derek didn't have much to carry from the hospital to his flat. It felt weird for Stiles to get to know where he lived. It was a big flat, empty for the most part, with so little decoration and personal touch it was almost sinister. Stiles fought the urge to make some comments that he knew wouldn't be welcomed. When all Derek's stuff had been put away in his room, they sat in the livingroom with coffee. Derek was able to walk around with crutches, only not for a long time.

"Are you sure you're gonna be ok?" Stiles asked him again. The man just nodded. "Are Peter and Laura coming someday?"

He shrugged. "They're still busy."

"Or they just don't care." Stiles immediately regretted what he just said. It was one of his several flaws, to speak without thinking. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to…"

"That's ok." But Derek looked really hurt.

"No it's not…"

"You're right." He had to admit it. "You're just right, they don't care. Laura is helping us with the band only because Peter wants her to, and he doesn't care about anything else that this stupid musical formation."

"Why don't you just quit?"

"He'll never forgive me."

"Then don't ask for forgiveness." Sometimes, things with Stiles were simple. Too simple. Derek couldn't help but laugh sourly.

"You wanna know why Peter didn't come and see me? It's because he still haven't forgiven me for not visiting him enough when he was at the hospital. There was a fire in our house and… and he barely made it out alive. Anyway, he spent an awfully long time recovering. I bet you're wondering why you didn't see any scars… It's just that, fortunately, his face and hands were spared, though he still wears long sleeves all year round."

"And you're still feeling guilty about it?"

"Yes. I should have cared more, or at least showed it to him."

"Still, he didn't came for you. He's the one that should feel bad."

"Trust me, Peter never feels bad." He sighed. "It's just how it is."

"I think that one shouldn't care for people that don't care about them. It's like you're giving and aren't given back. That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

"I know. But there's a difference between things you can't change, and that. When my mom died, that was life not being fair. She had this rare disease, and nothing could be done about it. Nothing. We were completely powerless, my dad and I, and I was still a young boy. I learnt that some things are just out of our reach. Life's a bitch, yeah." It seemed like it was confession time, and since Derek had been keen enough to talk about his family, Stiles was feeling the same way about his. "But this? Torturing yourself about an uncle that clearly doesn't give a shit about you, that's not something you can't control. It's easier said than done, but just stop caring. Why should you feel guilty when he doesn't?"

"You really don't know how to mind your own business, huh?"

"You're right, I don't. This is just my opinion, though. Do whatever you want now."

Derek sighed, but didn't say anything. What Stiles said made sense, even if it'll be difficult for him to go from theory to practice. Especially when it meant the end of his only hobby: playing Irish music. He needed to think about this.

"Thank you, Stiles."

The words came up from nowhere, breaking a silence that had discreetly settled.

"Don't thank me, I hit you with my car. We're quits now."

Derek couldn't help but laugh lightly.

* * *

The school-year had begun two weeks ago, and it was the time for _The Triskele_ to practice again. They used one of the smallest locals in the gymnasium, so when Stiles came up with the idea, he knew there would be problems.

"A bagpipe and flute player? Full time?"

Bobby Finstock, the leader of their dance group, sounded surprised. Thrilled, and in the mean time, concerned.

"That's awfully noisy, we'd have to search for another place to rehearse…"

"Um…" Derek stepped forward and explained why the idea wasn't a bad one. "Actually, tin whistle shouldn't be loud enough to cause trouble, and for bagpipes pieces, we could just use my flat."

If Bobby didn't say anything, his face answered for him.

"He's serious." Stiles intervened. "His flat is huge, probably twice our place here."

"And my neighbors are used to hearing strange sounds." He cleared his throat. "I mean, bagpipes, bombarde and all this stuff."

"Well… Ok. We shall see." Bobby agreed, before he went to see other dancers. Stiles then turned to Derek.

"I knew he would say yes!"

"Is it really ok if I solo?"

"Yeah, still better than recorded music, trust me."

"So I get to see you dance every week now?"

Even if he wasn't quite smiling, his hazel eyes were glowing with joy.

"Yep! And I get to hear you blow every week." Stiles laughed, proud of his little joke.

"Every _week_? You perfectly know that's not quite true."

Stiles made a face, half laughing half teasing. "I also perfectly know how good a blower you are."

As he knew what was coming after such a line. Derek didn't answer, at least not with words, but since everybody else was busy getting ready and waiting for latecomers, he seized the opportunity and kissed him.

It's been a month or two now, and he still wasn't tired of it. He hoped he wouldn't ever get tired of it.

"STILINSKI! You're here to dance, not to make out!"

They pulled away from each other under the surprise, then smiled.

"I'm pretty sure he really wanted to do that joke about pipe blowing or fingers or…" Stiles commented.

"Just go." Derek replied, getting his hand on his tin whistle. He didn't know what he'd play, and guessed he'd just do whatever their leader asked. Even if he wasn't dancer, he was part of the group now. A real one.


	11. So Cold

_So, this OS is a crossover between TW and Marvel Cinematic Universe. I barely used the prompt, finding it funny but... the story grew quite a different way._

* * *

Stiles Stilinski let the photograph fall on the floor. It was an old one, yellowed by the years. A soldier, proud and smiling. He remembered him before all of that happened. How did they even get here? Now he was strong, able to defend himself and others and he knew it did matter, but in the end, he still felt like he didn't had a raison d'être. He let himself fall into his bed, oblivious of his red, blue and silver shield resting nearby.

They say you see your life flashing before your eyes just before you die. Could it be your eyes saw not your life, but someone else's? He remembered, and despite the crushing sadness, he couldn't suppress a smile.

How did the meet, huh? A rocambolesque story, really. Stiles relived the scene, too vividly for his own good. There was a funfair, and that day he didn't feel like sitting in front of his desk, trying to draw a badly written comics about a superhero preventing war. That was so naive, no one would buy it. Yet, Stiles couldn't help but write this kind of stories. He had nothing else in mind. The funfair was a way to escape, really. He didn't have much money, and was aware that spending it on a ride was nothing but folly. In these days, he was only skin and bones and honestly, he should have known this little innocent-looking ride would make him sick. Too bad for the military man sitting just in front of him. Stiles remembered feeling truly sorry for himself and the stranger: he felt ashamed for being so weak, and even more ashamed for vomiting all over a man who deserved every bit of respect.

"Don't worry lad. I've seen worse." the soldier said as he offered his hand. "Sergeant Derek Hale."

Stiles was almost too sick and surprised to answer, but eventually did. They shook hands, Derek with a firm grip, Stiles with hesitation.

Without really knowing how, they became friends. And war came. Stiles, with his condition, couldn't even hope to join the army. He wasn't strong, he couldn't fight, he only had his will. Yet, he soon discovered that will and personality is all that matters in the end. That, and a little bit of weird science. He finally was able to join, only to take part in one of Deaton's experiments. He wished he could have told Derek about it. He wished they hadn't all these secrets between them, even after all of these years. He played the lab rat for mad scientists who, for once, didn't mess things up too much. He came out of it stronger, faster, healthier. He was a superhuman, a supersoldier. However, inside, he still felt like the old Stiles, the weak and feeble one.

That's the story how Stiles Stilinski became Captain America. A little pompous a name, yet a good one. Too bad he was only seen as a piece of advertising, a eye-candy symbol in the U.S. propaganda. That couldn't work, not like that. Stiles didn't sign for this: he was tired of feeling useless, far from the real fights, overlooked. He needed to be on the field, to actually help people and keep his word. He joined the army to fight for freedom, not to serve as a puppet for the real soldier's entertainment. Agent Martin knew that. She was maybe the only person who saw Stiles how he really was inside: still the old one, the feeble and fragile boy who tried to hard to put his life to save others'.

When he met Derek again, Stiles realized he was like Lydia. He managed to see past the muscles and strong jawbone to acknowledge him as just Stiles. Same as always. In a world of façades, Derek Hale saw through and Stiles loved him for that.

The word finally came up in his head. Still lying in his bed, not wanting to reach for the photograph on the floor, Stiles let out his tears. He loved him. He loved him so much loosing him was like losing a limb.

Derek S. Hale was the only member of the Howling Commandos to give his life on the field, and Stiles never had the time to mourn. Not until he woke up from his icy sleep between life and death. Losing everything isn't the worst thing in life, because it's when you don't have anything to lose that you're really free. No, what Stiles was crying about wasn't losing Derek or Lydia. It was, in fact, not completely losing them.

Lydia was old now. She got over Stiles' disappearance, made her own life, lived it without him. Now she was an old woman with a withering mind. And Derek wasn't dead. After all these decades, he had the same face. They could put on mask on it, a muzzle, let his hair grow, upgrade him with a metallic arm, do whatever they wanted, Derek would always be Derek. And as he saw the real Stiles behind the superhero costume, Stiles still saw the real Derek behind the supervillain gear.

"Derek…?"

"Who the hell is Derek?"

But he knew, and Stiles knew he knew. Something shivered within his eyes: doubt, remembrance. In the monster they made him, there was still a bit of Derek left. Seeing Stiles in his Cap gear, hearing his name with his voice, all of that was more powerful than any brainwashing. They fought, of course, they had to, but in the end, Captain America was alive only because of The Winter Soldier. Derek was still inside: stuck in the darkness, he just needed a spark to lit everything up. To remain human and himself. And then he was gone.

Not lost. Just gone. Stiles couldn't bear his absence anymore. He had a lot of things to do now, things that kept his mind busy, yet it all went back to Derek somehow. Where was he? Who was he with? Whom he was fighting for? Would he come back? Literally and metaphorically? Did he know? Does he know I…? Does he…? Does he love me? The questions were killing Stiles.

Time passed by until he heard someone knocking on the door. He couldn't be seen like this. Stiles got up quickly, rubbed his cheeks and tried to look normal. The door opened.

"Alan."

The scientist looked puzzled all of a sudden.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah… What's wrong?" There was always something wrong, especially when it came to Deaton's inventions.

"Peter escaped."

Stiles sighed, but seized his vibranium shield.

"I guess we're in for a little Bifröst ride!"

"Yep!"

They smiled, but something was off. Deaton could only look back, noticing the old photograph on the floor. Interesting, but they had more important matters to attend right now: a certain God of Mischief was on the loose again.


End file.
